


Plague

by purrslink



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Dark, Friendship, Gen, Suicide, Terminal Illnesses, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrslink/pseuds/purrslink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things you just can't stop. Only help along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plague

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even kidding, people. Read and heed the warnings well.
> 
> Also, this is not a forum to debate the legality or ethics behind assisted suicide. Please don't use the comments as such. Thank you.

“Gun shy, Barton?”

His eyes looked up at that, blues narrowed to slits because the answer is told in the calluses on his hands and burns on his neck. The man knew that though, watched, impasse except for the tightened corners of too thin cheeks. Still, the impact of the quip stretched until it was more and finally it was the other who broke. ”You don’t…”

It trailed off because it was hard enough to ask once, six months ago, when it had been words on a paper and a possibility. When a dip back into the world of alcoholism had loosened tongues and barrier; had started as a joke about hire and legalities, had ended in the quiet, somber moment between the three of them and whatever god there was. Back then it had been a thing of avoided eyes and unvoiced acceptance that it had happened. Then, the world had crashed (as their worlds so very often do) and alcohol had long since been given up again in favor of much more bitter and poisonous things.

“I know.” Because he did know that choice was an inherent part of the human condition, believed or not. That there was nothing to hold him to this aside from the look in the other’s long since clouded eyes. The smile there froze, the veneer patchy and dry, and he wondered when the grin had ever been real.

“Then do it.” Anyone else would have misread the bob of the other man’s Adam’s apple as reconsideration, would have misread the shake of hands for something more than pain. Then again, anyone else wouldn’t be standing here holding a gun and understanding quiet acceptance in a man who accepted nothing but his own word.

“Are-“

“Don’t ask me that,” and the snap was strained, raw. “It’s the only thing I’ve been sure about since it all started.” It, that problem that even a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist couldn’t solve. Not with all the spirit in the world. “You of all people should understand…” They both looked at the hands that had built an empire shake and curl, things lost to legend now. “What not being yourself anymore is like.” And he did, so painfully, forcefully, acutely did. “Don’t make me beg, birdbrain.”

Fundamentally he just had, was all he could think. But he steeled his mouth shut, blinked slowly (for you didn’t close your eyes when you were already in deep). A breath in, emotion out. They’d always said he had heart; had been told by a god that he did. Not for the first time, though, he wished he didn’t. Wished he wasn’t the one to see it all from the distance it needed, to see the height and scope of what was asked and demanded when just one more month was brought up. Wished he didn’t understand the value of choice and dignity and pride. Most of all, though, he wished his answer wasn’t the easy rise of the gun in his hands.

“Clint?” He dared to open his eyes and found the thing he was afraid to find. A faint smile; an acknowledgement of ‘it’. “Thanks.”

Silence stretched out for a moment, resolve wavered, but having heart meant the lines forged from misunderstanding and slow reconciliation held. He didn’t know when the music started, didn’t know when his finger pulled the trigger, didn’t know if the ache was recoil or something deeper. He did know when the moment was over, though, because he was a person who knew loss well. And for a good moment he wondered if, perhaps, the body in front of him wasn’t the only thing withered and decayed.

For a long time he stood until a quiet voice intoned, “Nice shot, sir.”

He knew it was. Knew a lot of the reasoning behind a lot of things. Knew what the tape would say in the end.

But it didn’t make loss any easier.


End file.
